how could you look at me,
with your bright green eyes,
yet so dark,
and so addicting,
and act like that look,
wasn't the very same look,
that you'd given to me,
when we were in love?

I knew that you planned to leave,
after all my text were left unread,
And you'd stop calling me every night,
it spoke the word you were afraid to,
so I did for you,
asking you why,
what had gone wrong,
And if it was my fault,
but you apologized,
and said it was you,
not me,
which I knew was a lie,
but you just didn't have the heart,
to tell me what we both knew was true.

All I ever did wrong,
was truly care about you too deeply,
thinking about you while listening to any love song,
I treated you like a key to finally being a human,
but I realize you never were the key,
instead you were the whole lock,
The law to the door that would have told me.

maybe it was me,
was it my very presence,
stopping you from light,
The light that gave you reason,
to finally live.

I miss your warmth,
but not only the physical warmth,
that boil under your skin,
like it was made to warm me in cool nights,
but the warm thing your smile,
in the words you spoke to me, too,
but I'm not supposed to miss your warmth,
since you are the one to catch me fire

My scars re-open,
Every time I hear your name,
I wish that they would just heal.

You told me you missed me,
but that was a lie,
because the only thing you missed,
was the ability to play with my mind.

Okay, so—
I didn’t just walk out.
I ran.
Not in a cool, slow-mo movie way.
More like tripping over a slipper
and accidentally knocking over my own confidence.

From what?
Everything.
The noise, the drama, the people who say
“Can I give you some feedback?”
(Please don’t. I’m fragile.)

I ran from my to-do list,
from “urgent” group calls,
and that one aunty who asks
if I’ve “lost weight or just look sick.”
Honestly, both.

I ran when I saw my old teacher at the grocery store.
I ran when someone asked,
“What’s your 5-year plan?”
I barely have a 5-minute one
and it mostly involves snacks.

Call it immature—
I call it survival.

I didn’t pack much.
Just chips, a charger,
and a carefully folded blanket of denial.

No regrets.
Now I’m somewhere quiet,
where no one talks about promotions,
weddings,
or “what I’ve accomplished lately.”

Just me, my hoodie,
and a growing list of things I pretend don’t exist

Your eyes speak to me,
Whisperings of lust,
I view the tragedy,
With my love fufilled eyes.

what a load of bull
i wish that was the rule
that we only felt physical pain
i’d take that any day

some of the things that have been said
they constantly replay in my head
i look in the mirror
“talk about chopped”
“you look like a little kid”
“i think you’re gaining”
“your hips are uneven”

there’s been so much worse said
but it’s okay
they’re all just jokes anyway
so don’t take it to seriously
or you **** the party

“talk about chopped”
i wake up two hours early
to do my hair
pick an outfit
but it’s never enough

“you look like a little kid”
i put on layers of makeup
just trying to feel like my age
but i constantly feel like im trapped in a cage

“i think you’re gaining”
yeah i know
my usually flat stomach
is getting some rolls
i’ve already crashed out tho
and i kinda stopped eating
but its ok
i don’t mind it

“your hips are uneven”
gee thanks
that’s so sweet of you
the one thing a like about myself
is something you hate too

i give my self delusional confidence
and fake self-esteem
it sends me on a rush
to where i don’t care
about anything

but then the crash comes
and i realize it wasn’t real
and i try not to cry
i try not to scream
knowing that people only like
the delusionally dazed me

but it’s fine
it’s all just jokes
sticks and stones
i use them to break my skin
and my bones